


Perspectives

by MetaphoricalPants



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: E/R - Freeform, Les Mis - Freeform, Les Miserables - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaphoricalPants/pseuds/MetaphoricalPants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's feelings on Enjolras. And Enjolras's on Grantaire. Can be seen as E/R</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspectives

Perspectives. 

He's standing up there, I'm sitting back here.   
He's got crowds around him listening intently, I'm alone in a dark corner. 

Back here hanging on his every word. His words of revolution, of foolishness, his stature that of a god to these people. The hope in their eyes says it all. 

He a revolutionary, I a cynic. He is strong, out going, and I am a lowly drunkard who likes to sit here and sketch him as he speaks. 

How foolish am I? More foolish then he? 

A cynic hanging on the words of revolutionary who speaks about a cause he does not believe in. 

A revolutionary who speaks of a revolution that will only waste the lives of many, his fight in vain. 

Though pleasantly buzzed I fully understand every word that passes his beautiful lips. I can't help but stare at them as he drones on. His speeches are eloquent, and his passion for his cause is obvious. I do not understand this man, and yet he captivates me. 

His features are beautiful, so beautiful they may as well have been chiseled by the gods. Then again you could compare the man himself to a god. 

He is confident, strong, brave, determined and clearly a natural born leader. This man who stands on a table in this small bar, speaking to the people of his thoughts and plans, is clearly nothing short of a divine being. His blonde curls his halo, and his words his weapon. 

He is everything I am not. And for that I cannot help but respect the man. 

Apollo. He is Apollo. The god of the sun. His golden curls should prove such. 

His beautiful eyes met mine, for only a minute, but that's something at least. The great Apollo knows I exist. 

His eyes quickly dart away to look at the men who are captivated by him. 

He is up there. 

I am back here.

He is a god. 

I am a man. 

He has followers. 

I am alone. 

He is a revolutionary. 

I am a cynic. 

He believes in his cause with a burning passion. 

I believe in nothing. 

But.. 

I believe in him...


End file.
